Drugs can change a person
by LSD-uNivErSe
Summary: Meet Kyle Broflovski. The seventeen year old fuck up that decided to abuse heroin. Why did Kyle ditch his three best friends, including Stan, to hang out with the Goth Kids? Please read and review, first South Park fanfic.
1. Chapter 1

**I've been wanting to post a South Park fanfiction for a while. I just thought that it would be interesting to write about how the characters would be like if they'd grown up a bit. Review if you want & criticism is welcome if you didn't like any part of the story.**

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><p>Somehow, everything had changed since Elementary school. In elementary school they stuck to each other like glue, no matter what happened or how much conflict arose in the group, they would always manage to stay remain exactly as they were. Differences aside, they were practically inseparable.<p>

It was only in middle school and junior high that they began to slowly drift away, the four Colorado boys. There was minor conversation amongst them every now and again, but hanging with different social groups didn't help because it only made them socialise less with each other.

...And then came high school. Conversations became non-existant; even if they walked by in the corridor there was no smile, no wave. They probably didn't even acknowledge who they had walked past.

In junior high Kenny began to make friends with the older kids in the grade above him. They all smoked pot at the bottom of the school's football field while they were supposed to be in class. He also ditched his orange parka for a more trendy leather jacket, Kenny had always been slightly self conscious about what the girls would think if he just turned up without the majority of his face covered; but he didn't seem to care a few years later because he was too busy getting high to even give it a second thought. Throughout most of his freshman year him and his new friends ditched lessons, or skipped school altogether.

Stan, having always been a talented football player, joined the football team and became a quarterback. Typically, he transformed into one of the most popular boys in the school and gained a lot of attention - to Wendy's annoyance. Wendy eventually broke up with Stan and decided to date Kevin Stoley instead.

Cartman was a completely different story; instead of going out and making new friends he stuck with Butters. Unlike elementary school were he was encased in a cage of immaturity and dire cruelty, causing Butters relentless torment (to which his innocent mind didn't understand the full extent - which makes it not quite as bad), Cartman would beat the shit out of anyone who did something to intentionally harm Butters. Even though Cartman called him names every now and again, him and Butters had always been best friends. But the same cannot be said about Stan and Kyle...

...Throughout a lot of his life Kyle was expected to become one of the biggest nerd stereotypes in South Park, and even he believed it - he was one of the smartest kids in the class, always did his homework and answered almost every question correctly. From a young kid people had high expectations of him, his parents and his teachers were constantly impressed with the high grades he received. But, very much like Kenny, he too began to skip classes he would sit behind school... smoking... with the goth kids. Kyle was always seen at high school with Micheal, Pete and Henrietta (Firkle was still at South Park Elementary so he came along outside of school). Despite hating everything about them and what they stood for years ago, Kyle eventually became one of them as his taste in music changed and his cynicism increased. He started smoking when he was around fifteen, also his absence to many classes shown a slip in grades - to his parent's dismay. The orange coat he gave to his younger, prodigy brother Ike and the infamous green ushanka was kept somewhere in his room, because it was the one thing he could never let go of.

Kyle dyed his hair ebony black, highlighting it blood red. He stopped leaving it in a huge bush because it began to get out of control, instead he straightened it down to cover one some of his face. Like the other goth kids he wore a lot of smudged eyeliner and black clothes. Although he didn't appear to have any interest in satanism or the occult, the clothing he chose often had symbolism that would say otherwise.

As for him and Stan... they never spoke to each other. Never. The last time they had an actual conversation was when they were fourteen, only because Kyle's parents wanted Stan's family over for dinner (which Kyle knew would be awkward as fuck anyway). So much for 'Super Best Friends', they didn't even like each other anymore. After the 'reunion' it had just made their relationship tense, they kind of had an argument which knocked down the strong friendship they'd built over the years.

The Broflovski household was always erupting in some kind of vicious argument. And Kyle was always the cause of it. Every single time. Whether it's his grades, or his school attendance, or him smoking in the house or in front of Ike. It's bad enough that everyone in that house was miserable because of the conflict, but the same kind of arguments arose every. Fucking. Week. Or twice a week, whatever. But Kyle had eventually lost count of the amount of times his mother had yelled at him for smoking, he figured if he was seventeen he was old enough to make his own decisions. Without his parents telling him otherwise.

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><p>"I really don't know what to do with him anymore." Sheila sighed as she sipped her coffee, her and Sharon Marsh always went down to Tweek Bros every Wednesday, it was routine.<p>

"Maybe you should ground him, take away his phone or something close to him. He might give you more respect if you_"

"No Sharon," she interrupted mid-sentence, "I've tried everything. Grounding him, forcing him to do his homework. Absolutely nothing will work. Is it anything like that with Stan?"

Sharon swiftly shook her head, "Stan has never really been any trouble at all. Well, he's in the football team so he can't smoke; I don't know, maybe it would be a different story if he didn't have such high athletic expectations. I fear I'm pushing him to far sometimes you know..."

Sheila rolled her eyes, "I wish I had pushed Kyle into maintaining straight As like me and Gerald used to... he has no respect for us, we argue all the time. The atmosphere around the house is depressing because all he does now is smoke and listen to that God awful metal music. Ike is only twelve, and Kyle will smoke cigarettes around him as if it's not affecting Ike's health as well as his."

"I'm sorry to hear about that Sheila."

Sheila laughed sarcastically, "that's not even the worst part... last Friday he came home at a ridiculous time in the morning. And I could have sworn that he was high on something as soon as he walked though the front door. Then I looked at his arms while he was passed out on the couch. I noticed a couple of track marks."

Sharon's eyes widened, "oh goodness." She exclaimed, "I never thought he'd go as far as that."

"I confronted him about it in the morning. He denied it as he stumbled up the stairs. I'm stuck on what I should do with him, how did he go from being such an obedient child into a low life?"

"Who does he hang out with at school?"

"Some miserable goth kids." Sheila downed the last of her coffee, placing the empty cup onto the table. "His grades plummeted as soon as he became friends with them."

* * *

><p>"Sup fag?" Cartman said jokingly as he wandered into Butter's room.<p>

"Just posting pictures on instagram," Butters said as his eyes were glued to his phone screen.

Cartman got out his iPhone and opened up instagram, "oh my fucking God Butters... let's stalk people's personal lives! We'll start with Craig."

Butters began to scroll through his several hundred followers, "wow Eric..."

"What?"

"Craig dropped out of school to be a guitar player in a band called 'Goodnight Motherfuckers'. He joined a couple of months ago."

Cartman chuckled lightly, "haha, I hope his band fails epically. Fucking bastard." Cartman looked his phone screen up and down for more people to look at. "That fucking gay-ass hippie Stan is now single. Well, at least he had the sense to dump that dumb bitch Wendy though..."

"Actually Eric, Wendy broke up with Stan. Stan just hangs out with all the popular kids now." Butters informed.

Cartman raised his eyebrow, "he's probably secretly dating Kyle... what happened to that filthy Jew rat anyway?"

"Oh..." Butters thought for a second, "him and Stan don't even speak to each other anymore. They haven't for a couple of years, actually. I'm pretty sure Kyle's a goth kid now."

There was a moment of silence before Cartman began to laugh hysterically, "you're not serious Butters," he insisted, "you're actually not being serious." He repeated, trying to contain his laughter.

"No Eric," Butters said as he handed his phone over, "look at the way he dresses now. And there's pictures and videos from a recent Marilyn Manson concert, I'm pretty sure I saw him at school with the goth kids recently too."

"Holy shit, he's fucking changed." Cartman was in genuine surprise, he thought that Stan and Kyle would never ditch each other. Not in a million years. But, he was wrong. "I bet we'll see Kyle and Stan at that party tonight, along with all the other cocksuckers we hated on."

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><p>Stan strolled through the front door. Having his Uncle Jimbo offer his a part time job at the store, Stan had just picked up his paycheck and was planning to head down to the mall to get some new clothes.<p>

"Stan," his mom called, "can I please talk to you in the kitchen?"

Stan made his way to his mother, "yeah I'm coming."

"Stan..."

"Am-am I in trouble?" He asked hesitantly.

"No Stan," she ensured, "it's about one of your friends..."

"Clyde?"

Sharon looked over at the clock and then back over to Stan, "no, Kyle."

Stan looked at her in a confused manner, "I haven't talked to Kyle in over two years. He's not the same person I was best friends with all those years ago."

"Listen Stanley, his mother is worried about him. _Extremely worried." _Sharon continued. "Kyle never shows up to classes, disrespects his family... Sheila found track marks on his arms for Christ's sake! Please, would you just talk to him?"

"Do I have to?"

"Listen Stanley, his family is so worried about him. He doesn't seem to care what he does or who he hurts. I'm sure if this was you then Kyle would try to get through to you, even if you don't hang out anymore..."

"No mom!" Stan retorted, "it's more complicated than that. We had a huge argument and haven't spoke to each other since; I would if we were still close, but that is in the past."

"I'm begging you Stan, his mother was almost in tears even thinking about him. She cries all the time because he doesn't listen to her. Just try to get through to him, for me... please."

"If it means that much to you mom, I'll do it." He gave in, "but don't expect anything to come out of it. If he didn't listen to her then what makes you think he'll listen to me?"

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><p>Stan hesitanly knocked on the door of Kyle's house. Jesus, he hadn't done that in a while. 'Why did I even agree to this?' He thought as he looked down at the floor, jumping slightly at the sound of the door handle being pulled down.<p>

"Oh, hi Stan." Sheila Broflovski greeted. "I'm guessing you're here to see Kyle."

"Umm, yeah, is he in?"

"He's in his room."

"Thank you Mrs Broflovski," Stan said as he came through the door. As he made his way up the stairs he couldn't help but notice the changes since his last visit. They had painted the living room a different colour, and repositioned the TV stand. Stan actually felt kind of nervous, confronting someone he used to consider his best friend about a drug addiction. He began to rethink as he put his hand on Kyle's bedroom door handle; the smell of tobacco lingered in the air as heavy music blared out of the speakers on the other side of the wall... he feared that Kyle wouldn't want to see him, he didn't fear it: he fucking knew it. And Kyle would be angry to say the least.

Instead of just walking in, he decided to knock first (it was only polite). Opening the door soon after hearing a monotonous "come in".

Stan nervously walked inside, seeing his former friend sat cross-legged on the floor holding a cigarette and drinking some cheap energy drink. All while giving him a rather displeasing expression as he paused the music he was playing. "Stan..." He began, "what the fuck are you doing here?"

Stan quietly closed the door, taking a few more steps into the smoky room. "Kyle... I know we're not on the best of terms, we haven't been for a long time." He tried to make direct eye contact with Kyle, who didn't seem to care as to why he had even come to his house. "Look dude, your parents are worried sick. Your mom cries every night because she hates seeing you destroy yourself like this. I get it. We're not friends anymore, but would you please just turn everything around? Listen, I'm not telling you to stop smoking, or to stop hanging out with the goths; just to curve it with the drug and alcohol abuse." Stan said with complete authenticity, although the little 'speech' he had been planning for the past half hour he thought was decent, especially considering the awkwardness of the situation he was put in the middle of... but Kyle stared blankly at him. It had not even got through to him, not even slightly. And to Stan, it was the vicious death state he used to give Cartman if he said something racist.

Kyle took in a drag of the cigarette he was holding, exhaling the dark smoke as Stan looked at him in shock. Even though Stan knew about Kyle's smoking habit for a couple of years, it didn't fail to surprise him that Kyle had actually started in the first place. "Get the fuck out of my room Stan." He replied coldly, "if you really cared, you wouldn't have ditched me to be friends with the fags on the football team. I'd come to your house just to have your mom tell me you were practising, or when I tagged along with you everyone just ignored me as if I wasn't even fucking there in the first place."

"You can still hang out with me Kyle."

Kyle put out the cigarette and threw it into a dirty ash tray, "you're taking pity on me now? Save it Stan, I like hanging out with the goth kids. They can be annoying at times, but I am one of them, and I could never have said that if I continued to be friends with you and tag along with the douchey football team. They are more loyal to me than you ever were, reminisce about the fun times we had as kids, but it will never be like that again Stan. You left me for them and that was your own decision."

"Kyle, I'm not even here to try an get you to hang out with me. I'm here about the track marks your mom saw on your arms_"

"Ugh," Kyle groaned, "that again? I did heroin a couple of times. Big fucking deal, I'm not even addicted."

"Heroin Kyle... fucking heroin. How low can you possibly sink? You never turn up to any class, you go to wild 'gothic' house parties and come back incredibly drunk, or stoned, or both. You disrespect your parents, you get low grades - if you even bother to take the test."

Kyle turned the music back on, holding the volume button on the speaker down until it got so loud for Stan to give up and leave, making sure that he slammed the door extra hard on the way out. In a bitter state of resentment, Kyle rested against his mattress, running his hand though his hair; fighting off the urge to cry as best as he could. Convincing himself that he didn't care, that his life is none of Stan's business to invade. But deep down he knew it was true, he knew that he was fucking his life up to the point where there would be no advantage to try and put the wreckage back together.

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><p>"Hey guys," Kyle said as he miserably walked into Henrietta's room. They all knew instantly that something was wrong, but didn't say anything because there was always something wrong.<p>

Pete flipped back his hair, a habit he had picked up sometime in elementary school. "Are you still up for that party tonight Kyle? I heard that everyone from school is gonna be there."

"Yeah..." He sighed.

"It's out job to make the atmosphere as tense and moody as it can possibly get." Micheal added, it was probably only a justification to excuse why they are turning up to a social gathering.

Firkle began to whine, "can I please go, I won't drink any of the alcohol."

"No, and if you keep fucking asking we'll kick you out of the fucking group!" Henrietta snapped, Kyle remembered her threatening to kick him out of the group - but she didn't do jack shit in the end.


	2. Chapter 2

Kyle smudged his dark eyeliner, looking at his reflection carefully in the mirror. He didn't really know why he was making such an effort with his appearance, he hated almost everyone who attended that school. Besides, he knew he'd get so drunk that he would eventually end up causing a huge scene - so why not at least look good while doing it?

As he slipped on a pair of ripped jeans, he couldn't help but notice how skinny he was. He was _painfully skinny._ And he figured it was due to smoking thirty cigarettes per day, smoking more curbs appetite, which also worried his mother. She probably thought he had an eating disorder or something; even Stan had noticed how much weight Kyle had lost in two years.

_'Great, a bunch of happy go lucky fucktards trying to make small talk with me all night. Stan will be on my back about just about everything and people will make relentless comments on how much I've changed...'_

Kyle wasn't just cynical, he was drowning in it. He couldn't help but question everyone's true motives, their actual opinions. At first he saw that and his pessimism as an advantage to him, but then he grew tired of it.

He threw on a Nirvana t shirt; feeling like one of the few people that wore their logo because he genuinely liked their music - the logo was beginning to become a fashion statement, which he obviously resented.

Lighting yet another cigarette, Kyle laced up his boots and made his way downstairs. His mother was reading some shitty magazine and shortly before he walked through the front door she decided to ask him where he was going, looking up from the magazine as Kyle hung half inside the house and half on the doorstep.

"Where are you going, Kyle?"

He rolled his eyes, "to a party. It's gonna be killer," he lied. He knew he'd hate it from the moment he arrived, he was only going because the other Goths wanted him to.

"Kyle, if you come back in the state you were in last week, you're not allowed to live here anymore. Do you understand me?" She warned.

"Fine mom, I'll come back at midnight and I won't get too drunk." He sighed, quickly closing the door before she had anything else to say.

* * *

><p>Kenny stuck around in the kitchen - where most of the alcohol was kept (typically), in his pockets he had a few lines worth of cocaine in clear plastic bags. But he was going to save them until the party really started going.<p>

"Holy shit," he muttered to himself, grabbing his already drunk friend Steven close to him. "Dude, is that Kyle Broflovski?" He asked as he pointed to the raven haired goth smoking a cigarette as he came in through the enterance.

"I don't fucking know!"

Kenny casually made his way over to Kyle, resting his arm on Kyle's shoulder. "You are Kyle, right?"

He took one last drag of his cigarette before carelessly stamping it out on the carpet. "Umm yeah, Kenny you look different without your hood." He pointed out, feeling awful for not recognising him at first.

Kenny pulled Kyle to one side and secretly took out the bags of cocaine, expecting Kyle to pull some explosive moral speech about how he shouldn't do drugs. "Dude, I can do with some strong alcohol right now. Maybe later we can do cocaine and then perhaps try something a little stronger..."

Kenny was completely shocked at the response, "yeah, I'm looking forward to that! Do you want a vodka?"

"Whiskey and coca cola."

Kenny let out a small laugh as he began to pour the whiskey into a glass, "say when there's enough whiskey."

He just left Kenny to pour out the beverage until the glass was over half full, "stop there dude." He ordered, "and can you fill the rest with coke?"

"Fucking hell Kyle, you looking to get alcohol poisoning by the end of the night or something?" He joked, "haha which coke do you want me to fill it with?"

"Dude, I said we can do drugs later - the fucking killjoys who don't drink alcohol and leave early might call the cops on us."

"Yep, that's true." He handed Kyle the alcoholic drink, "here you go pal."

Kenny decided to begin with asking his former 'best friend' a few harmless questions. "So... do you still hang out with Stan?"

Kyle laughed coldly, "we got into an argument a couple of years ago and didn't talk to each other at all. But earlier he came into MY house asking me to stop doing drugs and drinking so much alcohol. It's not any of his fucking business."

"What was the original fight about? If you don't mind me asking."

"Pretty much the same thing," Kyle admitted, sipping his whiskey. "Except he tried to convince me to quit smoking and he heard that I had tried marijuana. He made a big scene in front of my parents, who didn't know at the time, and then he walked home."

"You and Stan have always been such good friends, it's strange seeing you without him." Kenny picked up his drink, "do you still keep up those straight As like you did back in elementary?"

Kyle put on a sarcastic laugh, "I'm lucky to even get an F or a G now. I stopped going to most of my classes and I sit behind the school smoking with the other goths."

Kenny looked around the kitchen and the living room. "Where are they anyway?"

Kyle put down the empty glass on the side, "they're supposed to be meeting me here. But they haven't showed up yet..."

Kenny grabbed Kyle and pointed to a couple of students walking through the door, "look who it is."

"No fucking way..." Kyle was astonished, "Eric Cartman and Butters Stotch."

Both him and Kenny had succeeded in unintentionally getting their attention, as the fat, tall kid and the blonde walked towards them. "Sup ghetto? Sup Jew?" Cartman asked as he poured a glass of red wine.

"Hey fellas!" Butters said brightly, Butters hadn't really changed one bit.

"Hey guys," Kenny replied.

"Hi Butters." Kyle responded, "hello fatass."

Cartman just chuckled, "say whatever the hell you want about me... Kahl, but I'm getting better grades than you and won't be a royal fuck up when I leave school."

"Shut up Cartman, everyone knows that you can't do math for shit." He retorted.

Cartman smirked, "is that why I got a B+ in my last math test? And what did you get Kyle? Nothing? Oh, I remember now: you didn't bother to even turn up that day, did you?"

"I-I was sick that day..."

Cartman lifted one eyebrow as he laughed in pure sarcasm, "yeah Kyle, whatever."

"Where's Stan, Kyle?" Butters asked innocently.

"I don't associate with that self-centred jock anymore." He retorted, "Stan can go fuck himself for all I care." Kyle began to pour another whiskey, leaving out the cola part.

"Wow Kyle, you really are drinking steadily tonight." Cartman joked, Butters laughing along with him.

"Yeah Cartman... you stick to your cheap ass red wine. And Butters, you carry on drinking your lemonade."

Cartman just tutted, "so Kenny, how much pot have you smoked so far... Goddamn hippie drugs."

"I rolled three earlier, but me and Kyle are gonna smoke some tonight - along with some other things."

"What... what kind of 'other things' are you talking about, fellas?"

"Read between the lines Butters. Between. The. Fucking. Lines." Kyle hinted.

"Cocaine?" Cartman suggested.

"Mmhm." Kenny replied while slowly nodding his head. "Me and Kyle are gonna get high as fuck later."

"Ghetto, you do realize that there are people upstairs getting high right now. Why are you even waiting."

"Nah..." Kyle responded, "I wanna get as drunk as I can first." He figured he was going to call his mom and tell her he was staying over at Pete's place, or Henrietta's. Micheal had already been kicked out of his house and was staying with his grandparents, who could barely tolerate him staying there - let alone a friend.

"Yeah Kyle... you wouldn't want to overdose or anything." Cartman walked off as soon as he saw Pete, Micheal and Henrietta walk through the door. "Butters, come along you fag!"

The three goths approached Kyle and Kenny, who were already slightly drunk, tipsy at least. "Who's the conformist?" Micheal looked at Kenny in a rather intimidating way.

"Guys, this is Kenny. He's cool." Kyle assured.

"Do you do drugs, kid?" Pete questioned. "If you're gonna hang with us all night then you should at least take a drug of some kind..."

"Fucking name it, and I've probably tried it."

Henrietta reached over to touch Kenny's blond hair, "you're pretty confident... I like that." She said as she twirled a strand with her fingers.

"Umm thanks," Kenny smiled, "you're kinda pretty I guess."

"Don't fucking push it."

"Haha, sorry."

* * *

><p>As the time went by and more people began to arrive, the house suddenly felt smaller and smaller. Kyle was sat in the middle of the couch with Micheal and Henrietta on one side, Pete and Kenny on the other side of him. Kyle's vision got indescribablly blurred as he downed more shots and drunk more whiskey. If anything, he was completely hammered.<p>

Kenny, who was smoking a joint, blurted out the most random words and phrases that came into his head as the other goths shared another joint between them. Kyle taking in the occasional drag, everyone was pretty drunk, but not even close to the advanced level of intoxication both Kyle and Kenny were at.

Stan, on the other hand, stuck to beer. He stayed with Clyde, Token and the other members of the football team. But he couldn't help but take a glance at Kyle every so often, just to make sure that he was alright and wasn't doing anything stupid.

"You miss him don't you..." Clyde pointed out to Stan, having noticed him being unusually quiet and looking over his shoulder at Kyle almost every thirty seconds.

"I'm just making sure he won't do anything he'll regret later."

"Well, he's completely drunk and smoking pot. What can he possibly do that's gonna make him regret more than he's already doing now?"

"Clyde," Stan looked over his shoulder yet again and then turned back to his friend, "he's done a lot worse. Trust me on that."

Kyle playfully shoved Kenny (who was zoned out completely), "when are we gonna get to do the coke?" He hiccuped. "I wanna do something stronger than this!"

"Here," Kenny tossed Kyle the small plastic bag, "s-set me a line too please." His eyes looked demonically red - like from a low budget horror movie.

Kyle emptied the cocaine onto the table and separated the pile into four white lines using his American Express card. Two for Kenny, two for him. He rolled up a dollar bill and snorted the two lines, crinkling his nose as he leaned back against the couch. He couldn't even describe the euphoria - it was the most beautiful feeling in the universe. As if every single problem had been dealt with, and he no longer had to worry about anything; the pain he felt on a regular basis he would never be able to feel again.

"Kyle, we're going upstairs.. you wanna join us?" Henrietta invited him, but he was too happy to even move. "In about five minutes."

Kenny had finally managed to pick himself up from the couch and take the cocaine - which had been waiting for him for almost ten minutes. "Wait for me too... you guys."

Kyle and Kenny began to stumble up the run-down staircase, holding onto each other as if they were climbing up a cliff. Kyle began to get a pace going, before he was pulled back a bit by someone tugging on his shoulder. Drunkenly, he turned around to see Stan, fucking great.

"Where are you going Kyle?" He asked, as concerned as Kyle's mother on a daily basis.

"It's none of your fucking business Stan." Kyle slurred, taking in a drag of his cigarette. "Just go back to your friends Stan, you're only checking up on me because you're fucking being told to!" He yelled as he put his arm around Kenny and continued at an attempt to get up the stairs.

* * *

><p>"We've been waiting for you for almost ten minutes." Micheal said abruptly, "now sit down with us on the bed."<p>

The two South Park boys sat on the edge of the bed, staring at what looked to be heroin equipment. "Kyle do you still have some of the heroin left from the other night?" Pete asked as he simultaneously heated up the metal spoon with his lighter.

Kyle drowsily checked his jacket pocket for the heroin. Fumbling through loose cigarettes and cheap lighters; grinning as he found the spare piece. "Found it!" He exclaimed, throwing the small bag over to Pete.

"Thanks man." Pete had already prepared three syringes, he began to suck up the remaining liquid with the syringe he set for Kyle and the other he set for Kenny. "Tie a belt or something around one of your arms."

Kyle took off his metal-studded belt and made a band around his arm. When he was handed the syringe he made a tight fist in an attempt to raise one of the deep blue coloured veins; forcing the needle through and pushing down hard on the plunger as he fell back onto the bed.

Kyle could already feel the chemicals in his brain changing. A wonderful feeling, better than the cocaine and the alcohol ever could be. He stared into the ceiling as if it were some kind of piece of art, and as if it were staring right back at him. Despite all of the happiness the drug brought, how everything was pushed to the back of his mind and he was literally just enjoying the present; he couldn't help but get a sinking implication that even though he'd just shot up with more heroin than he could ever need, he wanted more. He wanted so much that it would make his heart stop and he would never have to live in such a shitty, judgemental and hypocritical world. He would never have to face his problems because they would no longer be there. He would be dead, and they would be gone forever.

* * *

><p>"Clyde, come and check on Kyle with me please?" Stan pleaded. "He'll be mad if I just go but if you're there too he might not."<p>

"He's fine, Stan. I'm sure he's just smoking a little bit of pot and nothing else. There is literally no need to check up on him... he's seventeen, not seven."

Stan just rolled his eyes and made his way upstairs. The smell of cheap alcohol, cigarettes and marijuana made the place smell like a crackhouse, and people were passed out everywhere. Literally. Stan checked in the first room nearest the staircase, no Kyle. He repeated it until he eventually made his way to the fourth room; and he couldn't have been more right to check up on Kyle.

Stan spotted Kenny, leaning up against the wall, not even coherent because he was so high on drugs. Micheal, Pete and Henrietta were resting on the headboard, all unconscious against each other...

... And then there was Kyle. Kyle was the only one lying on his back, fucking smart move - choke to death on his own vomit... well fucking done, gold star. Luckily, that wasn't even the case; however Kyle was the only one with two syringes sticking out of his arm, along with the leather belt still tied tightly. Stan immediately rushed over to Kyle and ripped out the syringes, pulling away the belt from its tight fasten and throwing them to the other side of the room. He began to call Kyle's name, trying to get him to sit up at least. Stan checked Kyle's pulse, relieved when he found one - which was pretty strong considering the fact that he thought Kyle had overdosed.

Kyle slowly began to open his eyes, throwing up all over the bedsheets shortly thereafter. Stan, who was completely relieved, wrapped Kyle in a firm embrace as he tried to stop himself from crying. The shock of thinking he was dead got to Stan in more ways than one, he wouldn't have been able to live with himself if Kyle had died and he was too late.

"Where the fuck am I?" Kyle asked as he began to realize who was hugging him, "S-Stan?" He slurred.

"I thought you were dead Kyle. I thought you had overdosed."

Kyle was still in a drugged out trance, he couldn't tell what was even happening because the room was spinning like crazy.

"Come on man, I'm taking you over to my house." He said as he lifted Kyle's arm over his shoulder and held on to Kyle's waist to help him walk. "I'm not gonna sit back and watch you throw your life away."

* * *

><p>Stan put Kyle in the passenger seat of his car. Kyle's eyes were only half open and his head was drooped down because he didn't have any strength to keep it up. He shuddered at the sound of the car starting up, and then threw up when it began to move from its lean against the sidewalk.<p>

"God damnit Kyle.." Stan sighed.

* * *

><p>"Stanley, it's three in the morning and you decide to come back here with some random drunk friend." Sharon yelled while standing at the top of the stairs.<p>

"It's not some stranger, mom... it's Kyle and he's gonna stay for the night."

Randy peeked over from behind Sharon, "Jesus Stan, he's pretty drunk."

Stan made a try a getting up the stairs with Kyle, his parents soon cleared out of the way as he made it to the top (eventually). "Dad, I don't want to know what he was drinking. And he threw up all over my car, trust me, I don't want to know." Stan said, although it would be the first thing he asked when Kyle was to wake up the following morning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for the reviews, I know that in terms of grammar and punctuation this is not my best work. It's been almost a year since I wrote a fanfic and my writing's gone a little off to say the least. **

**I normally write my chapters late at night and read through them at about two in the morning, I probably just don't check it through properly. **

**Regardless, enjoy this chapter. I've been getting the feeling that the story is going to get grimmer as it goes along, for Kyle especially.**

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><p>It was three in the afternoon when Kyle eventually woke up. He started off by rubbing his eyes, smearing the black eyeliner across most of his face and transferring some onto his hands, as if he had been touching coal. He clasped his pounding head as he slowly began to sit up, pushing the bed covers away as he looked around the unfamiliar room; he had no idea of where he was. Not a clue. And then it dawned on him: the gloomy feeling of doing something awful, but not even remembering what it was. He began to convince himself that he had done something he really would regret for a long time. Well, for a start, he woke up in a house he wasn't at all familiar with. <em>In a stranger's bed. <em>He was beginning to think that the party was a bad idea after all.

A small beacon of light crept in through the thin gap where the curtains met. Kyle moved the curly strands of hair away from his eyes as he looked at his pale arms. He couldn't even remember which drugs he'd taken that night - but judging by the blood that had dried over the joint of his arm he had taken some kind of liquified substance. Heroin? Methamphetamine? Ketamine? Or he had just messed with the track marks he had made before which accounted for the blood loss.

Stan quietly opened the door, just in case Kyle was still asleep. Kyle, looked directly at the 'stranger' he thought he'd done regrettable things with; but he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it was just Stan.

"You're awake then." Stan said as he handed Kyle a glass of orange juice.

"Oh fuck..." Kyle took a sip of his orange juice, "did we..."

"Of course not!" Stan yelled.

Kyle huffed, "then why am I in your bed?"

Stan rolled his eyes back, the guy actually couldn't remember what happened the previous night. "Dude, I found you in a complete state, I took you back here and let you sleep in my bed!" Stan retorted, "I've also spent all day cleaning YOUR vomit from out of my car... and it still smells vile too. It's gonna be months before it stops smelling of regurgitated whiskey."

Kyle had only just noticed that he was no longer wearing his Nirvana shirt, his head darted back up at Stan - who just stood there wondering as to what he'd done wrong. "Well, what happened to my shirt?"

Stan pointed over to the crumpled mess next to the cabinet, "you must have taken it off and threw it over there. I only took off your shoes for you and put you to bed."

"Oh... well you could have just let me go home myself. I'd have been fine."

Stan looked Kyle directly in the eye, "you really don't remember what happened, do you?"

"All I remember is getting drunk and doing cocaine... nothing else."

Stan sat down next to Kyle on the bed, Kyle just looked back at him in astonishment - something really bad happened, and it was a lot worse than sleeping with a stranger. He could tell from the sincere look of disappointment that travelled around Stan's glossy eyes. "Kyle, if I hadn't found you last night..."

"What is it Stan?"

"You would have fucking died Kyle. You could have easily choked to death on your own vomit, or shot up for a third time and overdosed."

He looked down to his hands, "are you saying that I shot up... twice?"

"W-when I came into the bedroom you had not one, but two syringes sticking out of the same arm, I think you were doing heroin. But when I looked at you, I didn't see Kyle, I saw a wreckage of a person and I truly I thought you were dead." The atmosphere was haunting; Kyle had often thought about what death would be like when he finally arrived there - and knowing he was so close to it not only terrified him, but intrigued him. Sometimes he just let his mind wander off, how would people react if they knew that he had died? And how long would they take to get over it?

Well, the way Kyle felt about himself, he wouldn't doubt that they'd get over it in a day or two.

It finally dawned on Kyle: he took that second dosage on purpose, as some kind of self-destruct test. In his wave of severe fatigue, he tiredly shoved Stan away from him, "dude, why didn't you just fucking leave me?"

"You would have died," Stan was confused, did Kyle intend to kill himself?

"I didn't care if I died!" Kyle shouted, "I hate my life. I fucking hate myself! I just wanted to see how many drugs I'd have to pump myself with to see how much my worthless, useless body could take! How many cigarettes do I have to smoke just before my lungs give out? How much fucking alcohol can I drink before I destroy my liver? I don't care what I do to myself anymore. I hate myself, and if I carry so much resentment for my own body then why the fuck shouldn't I have the right to destroy every last bit of it?"

"People care, I care." Stan tried to assure, putting his arm around his broken friend's shoulder. "You need to see a doctor Kyle, a psychiatrist, whatever. But you're obviously not okay if you carry on doing this to yourself

"I don't want to be given a shit load of anti-depressants, or be sanctioned. I'm not going to fucking rehab because I'm not even addicted to anything! I don't care what I do to my body anymore and I hope that I become nothing more than a failure in life because I fucking deserve it. I hope I die because I'm a living, breathing disappointment!" His voice suddenly went from almost screaming the roof off into barely a whisper, as he muttered: "I'm drowning Stan... and I'm not sure how much more I can take."

"Kyle, you tried to kill yourself... I don't think you can take anything else you can possibly take. You need help." Stan placed an ashtray on the bedside table, he figured that Kyle would probably throw up if he even tried to walk, so he didn't mind him smoking one or two cigarettes in his room. "I even went out and bought an ashtray for you. I want to help you Kyle, and you can stay here for as long as you wish."

"Shit, I forgot to call my mom."

"I spoke to her earlier and she told me that you have to leave, for a week or two at least... I packed some of your things and it's in a bag downstairs."

He felt awful, now his problems had been passed directly into Stan's hands. They weren't Stan's problems to deal with in the first place. "Do your parents mind?"

"As long as you don't outstay your welcome, I guess."

Kyle lit one of his Malboro Reds and inhaled the calming smoke. "Stan, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure dude."

Kyle sighed, flicking the ash into the small glass tray; "why are you even helping me?" He questioned, "we haven't really spoke to each other in years and now I'm suddenly staying at your house. I don't get it Stan."

"I missed being friends with you, that's all. And I could never be able to live with myself if you died, and I knew that I could have stopped it from happening." He admitted, Kyle just glared back in skepticism. Maybe Stan really did miss him, maybe he just couldn't bare watching Kyle ruin his life. But Kyle thought that there was something else... a deeper reason Stan was suddenly taking an interest into business that wasn't his to smash through.

Kyle took in a long drag of the cigarette, stubbing it out once he'd finished smoking almost every last fragment of tobacco packed in. "Okay Stan."


	4. Chapter 4

Kyle stared morosely into his reflection in the water. Leaning closely over the bridge, he exhaled heavily as he made contact with his cold, dead eyes. Pathetic. That was the one of the many words Kyle could think of to describe himself. _A pathetic, drug abusing, under-achieving, desperate, helpless soul; who was failing to fill a gaping hole in his life. _He threw the burnt end of the cigarette into the water, the last cigarette he had on him. He had been chain smoking as if it somehow took the bitter pain away, when it just saddened him to know that he could smoke a twenty deck in the space of two hours. Lighting one after another as if it were some kind of competition.

It was four in the morning and after relentless attempts to get some sleep (mainly taking whatever drug store medication he could find), Kyle eventually gave up. He got dressed, made sure he had money, and walked to the closest late-night liquor store to buy a pack of Marlboro cigarettes. And then wound up on the same bridge he came to frequently as a kid. Looking over the exact same way as he did all those years ago, except seeing a completely different person; when he was ten he didn't imagine himself going to wild LSD filled parties, or smoking like a chimney, or getting so drunk or so high that his own family didn't want to know him anymore. He didn't see himself hanging with the fucking goth kids either, but he had changed, grew up, and stopped being friends with the same people. He realized that Cartman was never going to quit making jokes about him being a Jew, or coming up with some childish scheme that would only land him in trouble. Or that Butters would always side with Cartman no matter what it was, or how severe the outcome would be.

And then there was Stan. Stan ditched Kyle three years before, and if he 'missed' being friends with him that much, he would have found the time to hang out - leaving behind his preppy football teammates. Kyle got that Stan was worried about him, but who the fuck didn't worry about him? Stan had only got involved when his mother explained the full extent of Kyle's situation; he already knew about Kyle doing hallucinogenics recreationally. Kyle began to think that he was somehow missing something out of the picture, did Stan somehow understand what he was going through? Or did he actually miss Kyle so much that he only looked after him so they would be friends again?

Kyle hadn't even checked his phone since the party, it had been turned off for over a day so he really wasn't surprised at the tonnes of notifications that kept popping up after he got it out of his pocket and turned it on. Mainly from Pete, Micheal and Henrietta. All wondering where he was and why he wasn't responding. About ten missed calls from his parents, along with dozens of texts from them. At one point his mother threatened to send him to live with his Aunt and Cousin Kyle - which would be sure to drive him to absolute insanity, his cousin was always the centre of attention at every family reunion. Whether it was his test scores, or the fact that he skipped a couple of grades. Kyle got it, his cousin was intelligent; but it wasn't a modest kind of smart, it was an arrogant 'I'm gonna get a better job than you' smart. Whenever his relatives asked about Kyle's grades his mother always lied just to compete with his over-achieving 'competition'.

Kyle had also figured that the heroin withdrawal would kick in any time soon, it probably already had, but his monster of a hangover had made it hard to differenciate between the two. That Saturday he had slept through most of it, threw up multiple times and continuously kept popping pills to try and get through the worst. Hours later, his head was still pounding out of his skull and he felt sick to the point where even a sudden movement made his stomach churn.

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><p>Stan awoke to the sound of a large bang on his bedroom floor. Disoriented, he looked over at the ashtray he must have kicked from the table in his sleep; "Kyle..." he groaned, realizing that his friend wasn't even in the room. Stan drowsily pulled himself up from the bed and flicked the lightswitch on, spotting the small note addressed from Kyle: <em>'I've gone out, I'll be back in a few hours - Kyle.' <em>Stan quickly began to panic, there could have been hundreds of things Kyle could be getting up to at four in the morning. Stan ran through all of the possibilities while slipping into a pair of jeans, shoes and a jacket. Kyle could be drinking, or taking more drugs, or even attempting suicide for all Stan knew.

He thought of every single place him and Kyle visited when they were younger. Not many shops would even be open at such a time, so he walked down to places like Stark's Pond, eventually winding up at the same bridge Kyle was still looking over.

"Kyle!"

He turned his head over, sluggishly glaring at Stan - who was practically running towards him. "Sorry dude, I needed to clear my head."

Stan quickly caught up to Kyle, still completely panicked, but a strong sense of relief hit him as he knew that Kyle hadn't done anything stupid. "I've looked everywhere for you, I was really worried_"

"Save your long speech." Kyle said bluntly. "I'm not worth your time, I'm a lost cause. And don't get me wrong, your kindness will forever hold my gratitude, but_"

"But what Kyle? I was worried sick that you'd gone out and done some more drugs, or drunk so much alcohol that you were unconscious in a dark alleyway. Or that you felt so much pain you decided to end your life."

"I still don't fucking understand Stan!" Kyle yelled. "If you wanted to still be friends with me that much then you would have found time away from the football team to hang out with me. Why wait until two or three years later?"

"Kyle_"

"Or then it got me thinking. Are you trying to empathize with me? Do you somehow understand what I'm going through or are you just trying to help?"

Stan sighed, "I will tell you if you promise to not do anything idiotic."

Alright, what can I possibly do now? Jump off this fucking bridge? The water below is like six inches deep."

"Dude, just stop shouting. Jeez."

"Come on then Stan, tell me. What the fuck is it?" Kyle said impatiently.

Stan finally snapped as Kyle scowled over at him. "It's because I had a drinking problem Kyle!" Stan looked regretfully over the bridge, "I know what it's like to rely on substances to create a false sense of happiness, I did it for a long time."

Kyle began to feel terrible, he rubbed his eyes before placing a sympathetic hand on Stan's shoulder. "C-c'mon Stan," he stuttered. "I had no idea, I probably shouldn't have pushed it... I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I needed to tell someone eventually, I need to finally be able to speak out about it without the fear of being judged or being looked down upon."

Kyle smiled briefly, "do you wanna go back to your house so we can talk about it, perhaps?"

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><p>They both sat opposite each other on the bed, Kyle had managed to retrieve a loose cigarette to puff on while Stan explained everything to him. At least the question that had pondered in his mind for hours would be answered at last.<p>

"Do you remember when I turned ten? How I suddenly turned so cynical that nobody wanted to hang out with me and I was left on my own."

"Vaguely, yeah, and the whole 'Cartman Burger' mishap."

"I couldn't help it, I couldn't control my bitterness because I saw the world as shit. When I took down enough alcohol I would miraculously think normally, be able to do things I did before without having to complain about it."

"Didn't you try anything else?"

"For a couple of years I solved the problem with alcohol. When I was twelve, the time finally came to tell my dad about it, and he took me to a psychiatrist the very next day. My mom and my sister still have no idea, and they finally found an anti-depressant strong enough for me to block it out. I keep my pills on a small hole behind the picture frame."

"Why didn't you tell me about it at the time Stan?... we were still friends back then."

Stan shook his head, "we still hung out with Cartman, too. If he noticed how you were being overly sensitive and careful around me, he would've found out eventually. It's Cartman, he would have ripped on me forever about it."

"I know the feeling, Cartman has always been a fucking dick..." Kyle looked up to the ceiling, and then back to Stan, Stan had his head hung down towards the floor. From the way he was sitting, the atmosphere was tense... and Stan looked overwhelmingly ashamed. "Here," Kyle handed the burning cigarette over towards him, "you wanna try some?"

Stan laughed, knowing that Kyle was simply trying to alleviate some of the awkwardness and the tension that built up around the room. "Haha, okay." He took the cigarette from Kyle and inhaled the think smoke. The burning sensation felt horrible as he began to cough up instantaneously.

Kyle seemed to find it hilarious, taking the cigarette back from Stan and breathing it in yet again. "Remember when we all tried smoking after that shitty dance group came to sing at the school? And then Mr Mackey caught us and we accidentally burnt the school down."

"Yep, those were the days." Stan smiled briefly, "and then Rob Reiner tried to kill Cartman or something."

"Yeah... and then there was that whole thing with the high school musical phase. And that kid on the basketball team."

Stan chuckled lightly, "oh Jesus... and that God awful song we performed to the rest of the school." He grimaced at the memory, and how everyone had stopped watching to go and watch a basketball match. "Hey Kyle, do you still play basketball?"

Kyle smirked, "dude, I can't even walk to school without getting out of breath. With all the smoking I do, I'm more unfit than Cartman!"

...

For hours, Kyle and Stan reminisced about the times they had in South Park Elementary and the people there. Often ripping on Cartman for his weight and the way he behaved towards everyone. They both slowly but progressively began to be more comfortable around each other, despite all of the damage their absence caused. It was as if they had never drifted apart in the first place...

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><p><strong>Thank you for reading, I'm hoping to involve the goth kids next chapter and hopefully the school (maybe some Cartman and Butters?) <strong>

**I don't know whether or not to make this a style fic or keep it how it is (with the friendship), if I do use the pairing then there would be no smut. It would just kinda be cute.**


	5. Chapter 5

For a long time, Kyle had always considered Pete to be his 'best friend'. He stuck to the goth kids like glue, but if there was one that he confided in more so than anyone else: it was Pete. Kyle felt that, despite getting along extremely well with the goths, the other three were not understanding enough of his personal problems and he didn't feel comfortable enough to share them, either.

Pete had always been the more 'caring' of the original four. And although they meant a great deal to each other, sometimes Kyle thought that they really had no personality at all. As if they read the definition of goth on Urban Dictionary and decided to follow it exactly. Pete, still being 'non conformist' and 'anti-prep/vamp/poser' exchanged advice and support with Kyle when either one of them needed it.

Pete recreationally abused heroin. His older cousin who stayed at his house was a heroin dealer, and also a heroin addict. So he never kept track of the smack he was supposed to be dealing because half of it he'd use himself. Pete took this to his own advantage, and stole the smaller doses. Sometimes he sold it to people, but most of the time he and the other goths would take it to use at the regular parties they attended.

He silently sat in the darkness, taking the occasional drag of the cigarette in his hand, but watching it burn away. The ash fell to the floor like snow as the cigarette got shorter and shorter. Pete listened half-heartedly to the sound of his parents arguing with his cousin. He heard a plate smashing to the floor, the piercing sound echo through the rooms. He didn't want to know, he wasn't going to drag himself into caring about what was happening on the other side of the door.

Rolling his eyes back at the typicality, he pulled his phone from the pocket of his jeans. He quickly checked the notifications, not that there was any because he told the goths he was busy so he got out of drinking with them. He wasn't in the mood for getting drunk and having his money stolen again as soon as he got home. So, he sent Kyle a message:

_'Are you busy? If not, can you meet me please?' _

Pete patiently waited for a reply, he didn't even expect to get one considering the time it was. But a small part of him lit up when Kyle finally responded.

_'It's midnight... do I have to?' _Pete wasn't even surprised, someone as lazy and unmotivated as Kyle would never get up at midnight just to sit in the freezing weather and 'talk'.

_'Please, my family are shouting at each other and I need someone to talk to.' _He had used that excuse too many times in the past, and the one time he genuinely meant it, it probably wouldn't work.

_'Fine, where do you want to go?' _Pete was shocked, he had actually got Kyle out of bed. He should have been given an award.

_'At the gates to the graveyard, I'll see you in a half hour...' _Something drew Pete to graveyards, their darkness, their mysteriosity. He liked the was the fog hovered over the tombstones, the faded engravements. It was enticing to him.

_'Okay.'_

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><p>Pete waited rather impatiently at the gates. Sitting against the frosty metal bars, that were digging into his back and making him colder than he already was; a Korn t shirt probably wasn't the smartest piece of clothing to wear outside at night. He didn't know what was worse, him freezing to death or Kyle taking longer than he said he was going to be. Both were irritating Pete, he hated when people were late, no matter who they were to him. Being patient wasn't really his strongest point.<p>

Pete looked over into the distance. A shadowy figure emerged over the dim street lights, the fog moved away as the figure gradually got closer. He knew it was Kyle, he could tell by the dark clothing and chunky boots; along with the skinny frame, pale skin and black hair that had visible deep red roots and was unusually curly.

"I've been waiting for you for thirty minutes!" He shouted, the peaceful silence ruptured by his raspy voice.

Kyle rolled his eyes, he did that too often. But when the world was nothing more than bullshit in his opinion, who could even be surprised? "Yeah, well going to a fucking graveyard at midnight didn't seem very appealing or motivational to me... If I'm being perfectly honest." He sarcastically remarked as he sat on the floor next to Pete. "Why'd you drag me down here anyway?"

Pete grabbed his backpack from the floor, unzipped it, and pulled out a cheap bottle of vodka. "I need someone to talk to," he signed while unscrewing the cap. "My family was arguing again, I had to get out." Pete took a large sip of the clear substance, grimacing as it burned his throat on the way down.

"Dude, we have school tomorrow." Kyle pointed out, eyeing the bottle that Pete held onto so protectively.

"Since when do you care about school? You haven't shown up to any of your classes in, what, six months? You know just as well as I do that it's pointless even trying, because we're all gonna fucking die eventually! And then what? Everything we did in life is forgotten because everyone and everything is insignificant. We might as well not try and get this torture of a life over and done with." Pete forced another mouthful of vodka down his throat, "we should get out of this biological cycle as soon as we possibly can..."

Kyle grabbed the bottle from Pete, himself taking a drink of the contents. "I know exactly what you're saying. Everyone is convinced that they're going to live a meaningful, happy life. But they're all a victim of human narcissism and sense of superioriry. We're all cogs in the machine, just like when some of those cogs stop working completely - they're replaced with newer ones. Older generations being replaced by the newer generations. We're taught that our lives have purpose, but unless you change the world in some way, you're nothing more than a name engraved on a tombstone. I stopped trying when I finally realized how pointless trying was."

Pete took the bottle back from Kyle, "I've felt this way for a very long time... I probably emphasized it when I was younger, but we all live in this rotten, fucked up world. Where people murder, rape, torture and do all unspeakable things to others for no reason. Where people lie and tell you everything's gonna be okay, when it really is not. And it never fucking will be. We are told what is right and wrong from a young age. 'Don't do drugs,' 'don't smoke,' 'don't abuse alcohol.' They are the only things that allow me to escape from reality, allow me to forget everything."

Kyle looks at his friend, unable to ignore the pain that dwelled in the kid's eyes. The same level of despair and suffering that he felt every day of his life. An inescapable void that he didn't even attempt getting out of. "Pete, most people would be spewing out crap about thinking positively or ignoring the bad things. But when I feel the exact same way, I identify with the thoughts that go on in your head. I will always be there if you need me, even if it's at fucking three in the morning. I always listen, you know I do." Kyle smiled, "life is pointless, believe me and every existential crisis that loomed over me while I tried to go to sleep."

Pete snickered almost silently to himself. "We should get drunk, like old times, skip school and trip acid in my bedroom. We used to sit in almost complete darkness, the only light radiating from the burning cigarettes we inhaled." He sighed, "Everything's changed and I didn't want anything to in the first place."

Kyle broke the seal from yet another Marlboro Red pack he'd bought for himself. "Times were so much better back then," he lit a cigarette. Relieved at the release it gave him, especially after cutting down significantly the day before.

Pete tilted his head towards the moon as he downed a quarter of the vodka, almost religiously, "remember a couple of years ago when we had been to this hardcore gothic party... and we kissed each other? I don't know if I was confused or you were confused because we were just fifteen, and even though it didn't feel like the right thing to do, considering our close friendship, but it certainly wasn't wrong either."

Kyle took a long drag of his cigarette, exhaling the smoke into the Siberian atmosphere. "I never regretted it." He admitted, "it actually improved our friendship... if you ask me, anyway." He turned to look at Pete, who had both arms wrapped around his waist, attempting to keep at least a little bit warm. Kyle began to take pity on him, it was pretty stupid to leave without a coat - especially in below-zero temperatures, but he was shivering almost violently. "Dude, you must be fucking freezing..." He said while removing his black leather jacket and tossing it over at Pete. "Put this on."

Pete stared at the jacket, sliding his pale arms through the sleeves. "Won't you be cold now?"

Kyle shook his head, "at least my shirt has fucking long sleeves!" He laughed, "how did you forget to bring a coat anyway?"

"I just ran out the door, I didn't even think about what I was wearing. I had to get the hell out of there, they were yelling and it was pissing me off."

Kyle passed Pete the remaining half of his cigarette, Pete took a long drag, his expression made it look as though he'd gone ten years without one. "Kyle, what happened to you after the party? We looked for you, but you had gone." He remembered how frustrated everyone got with Kyle, after all: the party wasn't over and they still had a lot of drinking to do.

"I didn't bail on you guys," he reassured, "I passed out from the drugs and Stan found me."

Pete took one last drag of the Marlboro red before stamping it out lightly on the floor, "Stan... as in preppy football boy Stan?"

"His mom was 'bothering' him about checking up on me, earlier that day he tried to talk to me. I made it hard for him and he gave up, if you even saw him at the party all he did was glance at what I was doing." He explained, "Stan found me and took me back to his place, I've been staying there for a few days to get away from my parents to be honest."

"He still dating that Wendy girl?"

"She broke up with him a while ago, good thing really because it wasn't a very stable relationship."

Pete eyed Kyle in suspicion, "it seems almost like you're glad that they broke up." He remarked, not even regretting it after seeing Kyle's shocked reaction.

"Why the fuck would I be glad about Stan and Wendy breaking up?" He yelled, his voice almost forming a slur. Kyle had consumed a lot more of the vodka than Pete had, and it was too easy to tell when he was drunk; Pete had seen it countless times. If anyone provoked Kyle, even in the smallest of ways, they'd get it. "It happened like two years ago, and I don't even talk to Wendy anymore."

Pete just rolled his eyes, expecting Kyle to react the way he did all along. Concluding that it was Kyle after all, and he has to justify every single thing that he did as if he'd been taken to court because of it. "You're not having any more of this." He said sharply while waving the almost empty bottle in front of his friend. "You're not cool to be around when you're drunk, you get touchy, _aggressive_."

Kyle pulled himself from the concrete ground, dumbfounded of Pete's accusation. "I'm aggressive?"

Pete threw the bottle in the middle of the road, watching as the glass smashed into tiny shards, reflecting in the powerful moonlight. "You get either really moody or overly aggressive. I'm not complaining about it, I'm just making a point, so don't rage out at me."

"Fuck you man, if you think I'm like that... then you don't really know me at all." He tossed a five dollar bill over at Pete, "here's the money for the vodka, don't fucking say that I don't do anything for you. I know you can hardly afford to smoke, so your next pack is on me." It came across to Pete that Kyle wasn't doing it out of some harmless generosity, it was out of pure spite. Almost as if he was blaming him for having no money.

He watched as Kyle stormed off into the distance, his hands shoved into his pockets as he darted back to his pityful friend Stan's house. "Fine Kyle!" He yelled, "run away from all of your fucking problems - you do it better than anyone else after all!"


End file.
